The Quiet Lands
by Miss Minerva
Summary: It is an early autumn morning in Mobliz, decades after the Ruining of the World. The air is clear and the the clear chiming of the chapel bells can be heard throughout the town. It is here that Terra Branford takes her last breath.


The Quiet Lands

A short story of the FFVI world

  
  


Written by Missy Minerva

a_red_thread@hotmail.com

  
  


Morning Bells

  
  
  
  


Terra Branford, having recently celebrated her 256th birthday, died early that morning. It was autumn, and the hills in Mobliz shone brightly orange and red with the sunrise. The bells, those hanging from the highest steeple of the chapel, rang sharply and clearly. Of all the possible mornings to choose from, it was a good morning to die.

  
  


Terra died quietly in her sleep.

  
  


Rosaline Madeen, great granddaughter of Katarin Aubrey, sighed and brushed her chestnut hair from her shoulder. She recalls the voice of Terra in her ear, a singsong voice, in reflection: "I'm not sure. I partly attribute my longevity to the nature of my breed." That very nature being something both treasured and sometimes feared in their world. Sometimes worshiped, sometimes hunted. The air bore whispers of threats and softly spoken questions.

  
  


Which witch is which?

  
  


Rosaline sighed. It was all before her time.

  
  


The funeral would be held in three days. The wake was to begin as soon as the body was prepared and placed in the Madeen household's living room. Rosaline, as the matriarch, would claim the lead role in these preparations. As she knew Terra better than most. As she knew Terra barely at all.

  
  
  
  


The Quiet Lands

  
  
  
  


There is a place, many people know about it, called the Quiet Lands. Of course, it goes by many different names. Purgatory. Limbo. Nothingness. Nirvana. Heaven. Hell. Valhalla. Lifestream. Afterlife. Land of the Dead. But these are all merely titles. Some seek to qualify death as good or bad, place a purpose on being there. And true, there may so be. But only what you expected it to be. Only that.

  
  


But mostly, silence. All the years of speech makes most everyone view death as a chance to indulge in this. That is why they often call it the Quiet Lands.

  
  


Terra opened her eyes in this, to see darkness.

  
  


She Speaks:

  
  


"Where am I?"

  
  


And silence returns.

  
  


"I am dead."

  
  


And silence returns.

  
  


"Finally."

  
  


  
  


Silence

  
  
  
  


There is a pause here for silence.

  
  


This continues for as long as anyone may care to keep track. In the interim, several events take place. Life moves, and travels onward. The world changes. Time passes, and folds upon itself, creating new times and possibilities. 

  
  


Then Terra speaks.

  
  


She Says:

  
  


"I guess you are all here."

  
  


They do answer. Eventually.

  
  
  
  


Form Follows Function

  
  
  
  


There is a key, and she is surprised when she realizes that she can indeed see it, and it is not merely imagined. The key sits in space and slowly rotates on various axis. It is blue, then purple, then red. There is a chain hanging from its crown, of silver, slightly tarnished. It appeared to be searching, somehow, for a lock. Eventually hoping it will find something that it can open.

  
  


Terra Speaks:

  
  


"Locke Cole, it is you. Am I not mistaken?"

  
  


The key turns green, to yellow, to orange. In the distance, Terra feels a pause.

  
  


"Yes, right. I think so. Locke, yes Locke. That's right. I had nearly forgotten, that."

  
  


"You've been dead for a while."

  
  


"I have, alright. Bloody nearly forgotten about it."

  
  


"Like amnesia?"

  
  


"Right bloody exactly, Terra. And that… That won't do."

  
  


"No, Locke. It won't do at all."

  
  


Terra wonders what she must look like to him, what form she has assumed in this place. Then begins to figure that perhaps the way she sees Locke is not his choice, but her own version of him. Or perhaps a combination of the two. Maybe she appears here as a glimmering magicite shard, or an esper, or a flower, or a morning chapel bell.

  
  


She glances around her. Realizes that Locke Cole is not her only companion in this room. She grows conscious of other forms, some obvious and others more obscure.

  
  


A crown, bearing pale blue jewels, quietly observes her. A vase of blue camellias, both strong and delicate. An icicle. It drips a tiny glistening dewdrop at random intervals. A feather of bright colours. An ace of spades. A rail from a train track. A paint brush. A trumpet. A small pink ball. A blade of tall grass. A small vial of deep green. A small flame. A pale yellow light. A necklace. A toy train. A magicite shard. Another. A harlequin's mask. (And she shudders…) There are others, there are more than she can count. And these are only the first that she begins to identify.

  
  


The icicle drips, and the droplet makes a song like an aria.

  
  


The key spins a little faster, as if looking for that elusive lock. Looking harder. 

  
  


Then silence again, they pause. Maybe centuries pass, but he eventually speaks to her.

  
  


"Terra?"

  
  


"Yes, Locke?"

  
  


"So, how did you die?"

  
  
  
  
  
  


Question One: How Did you Die?

  
  
  
  


Terra pauses as she realizes that this answer is not an obvious one anymore. She was alive, just recently, wasn't she? The answer stuck in her throat. It stung. Had she ever really been alive? What is this life, what does it mean? Was I ever…?

  
  


Alive.

  
  


A Life.

  
  


I had a life.

  
  


Once upon a time.

  
  


And Terra Asks:

  
  


"You first, please, Locke. How did you die?"

  
  


The key turns, and there is a sharp click in space.

  
  


Terra waits.

  
  


Another tiny click is heard.

  
  


And Terra waits.

  
  


"Locke?"

  
  


The key looks at her, but does not speak.

  
  


"How did you die?"

  
  


Locke pauses. The key spins for a while, then slowly comes to a complete stop. 

  
  


Terra waits. Was he avoiding her question?

  
  


How did you die?

  
  


"Alone."

  
  


A pause.

  
  


"I am very sorry to hear it."

  
  


"It's okay, I have nothing more to say about it."

  
  


"Was it what you expected?"

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


They let this word dissolve in the air. To dilute. To better taste it's flavour.

  
  


"Yes, I think it was."

  
  


"But, then… don't we…"

  
  


"Yes. Yes, we all die alone."

  
  


"Does that comfort you?"

  
  


"Does it you, then?"

  
  


"Maybe…"

  
  


"It wasn't a hard thing, being alone. I have had, as they say, ample experience."

  
  


"Do they really say that?"

  
  


"No. Like shite, they do. I'm a bloody liar. A liar and a goddam thief."

  
  


Silence.

  
  


"And don't look like that, Terra."

  
  


"You've never been harsh with me before."

  
  


"No."

  
  


"But now is different?"

  
  


"It is, alright. And I feel very much transparent in here with you. Very light, but also very vulnerable."

  
  


"Is that bad? Should I stop speaking to you? I am sorry…"

  
  


"No, I mean, please…"

  
  


"Please?"

  
  


"Keep talking. The silence. I never much liked it."

  
  


"Okay, then."

  
  


But they grow silent anyway. There is another droplet of song as the icicle regards them. She speaks, and the droplets form more quickly.

  
  


"We do die alone, physically. But that does not mean we are actually alone when we die."

  
  


"Is that really you, Celes?" The key had spun around.

  
  


"Yes. It is I. And I, for one, do not think that I died alone."

  
  


"How then… I am sorry, my dear. I haven't that memory. Not yet."

  
  


The icicle smiles, they are sure of it. There is a shard of light that forms briefly upon its tip, and radiates outwards. Celes Chere, the icicle, is shedding happy droplets, which sing an Opera song. A familiar one, and Terra feels she will cry, but doesn't.

  
  


"I died… I died right, I think. If there is a way to die right."

  
  


"Yes. That's right… But not at the right time?"

  
  


"What is the right time, Locke? I died early, maybe, yes. But the thing is that I learned to live, however briefly, until then. And…"

  
  


"And?"

  
  


"And you were there. You held me. I am sorry that I died."

  
  


Locke is silent.

  
  


"I am sorry. And you know that I rarely say that. Not sorry that you were there. You were, and I thank you, but I am sorry that I was the first to leave you. I did leave you alone, and for that I am very sorry."

  
  


Locke does not speak.

  
  


"Locke… my love, please don't be angry. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was my time. Speak, please. Terra. Tell him to speak, please. He used to listen to you, didn't he?" 

  
  


"I thought he listened to you, Celes."

  
  


"He's stubborn. He always was."

  
  


Locke, still, does not talk.

  
  


"Okay, I have tried. You will make me go off and suffer for a while then. You can be so cruel. But I did die on you, so I suppose you have that liberty. I'll be over here, dripping quietly. You know where I am. Come and speak to me when you are ready."

  
  


Locke silently glances at Terra.

  
  


"Don't look at me, okay, Locke."

  
  


"She left me… Again."

  
  


"You can be really depressing sometimes."

  
  


"Yes. I suppose so, but then again… Oh, I'll save you the horrid, horrid story of my life, which I've plagued you with time and time again."

  
  


"I like your stories."

  
  


Locke sighs.

  
  


"She said she died happily. Isn't that what you wanted her to tell you?"

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


"Then what?"

  
  


"I wish I… That we… had been…"

  
  


"Together?"

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


The icicle drips a pleasant song.

  
  


"She's just right there. You heard what she said…"

  
  


Locke contemplates, and begins to spin once more. The key has become the exact colour of blue that was once Celes' eyes.

  
  


Terra has noticed that the crown is still regarding her. It glistens gold, and speaks.

  
  


"Pay no heed to Locke, he's a little under the weather."

  
  


"You don't seem to have changed."

  
  


"And you are also still quite beautiful, Terra."

  
  


"How did you die, Edgar Roni Figaro?"

  
  


"It was in old age, under my wife's watchful eye. A happy death, having cheated myself out of many pre-planned deaths and reaching the old stand-by."

  
  


"So you are pleased?"

  
  


"I did not say that. It was a calm, effortless death. For all I've done, it seemed almost cowardly."

  
  


The vase of flowers shuffles and spills water.

  
  


"My brother is troubled, you see, that he hadn't a heroic death."

  
  


"Oh please, Sabin!"

  
  


"You object. That only proves the truth behind my words."

  
  


"Gads! And how about you, then? You disappeared and we never did find out…"

  
  


"I froze to death."

  
  


There is silence.

  
  


"Or burned… Or maybe drowned. Starved? How about dehydration? Does it matter?"

  
  


Terra softly speaks. "I'm not sure… does it?"

  
  


"Not really. All that needs to be said it that it was violent. Quite utterly and terribly violent."

  
  


"Was it really, Brother?" 

  
  


"Yes, very."

  
  


"I am sorry for you."

  
  


"Don't be. It is satisfying in its own right."

  
  


The brothers grow silent and Terra begins to ponder her own death. The quiet morning bells, she can remember hearing them as she took her last breath, but only in a dream. Yes, in sleep. In old age, as Edgar had. But age, very old age. She had lived so long, and death was nearly like a sigh when it finally came.

  
  


She Spoke to no one in particular:

  
  


"My death was almost… a relief…"

  
  


The ace of spades spoke. "That is good to hear." The feather spun next to him and also spoke.

  
  


"My death, as you well know, was also filed under the violent category."

  
  


"Mine too, Daryl, dear. We are two leaves from the same vine."

  
  


"Two cards from the same deck."

  
  


Terra smiled. "You are happy with that sort of death?"

  
  


"Of course… very fulfilling."

  
  


"It's the only way to die!"

  
  


Terra smiled to hear these lovers talk as if they were still taking turns at tequila in a swanky bar. She thought to her own death again. Yes, a relief. Was it fulfilling? What did I think, on that morning? Do you think in sleep? What had her thoughts been?

  
  
  
  


Question Two: What Were your Last Thoughts?

  
  
  
  
  
  


Terra had thought: Well, this is a good morning to die if you are ready.

  
  


"Was I ready?"

  
  


You were 256 years old. Of course you were ready.

  
  


"When is too young or too old?"

  
  


Terra turned to the brightly coloured feather that was Daryl, and asked:

  
  


"What were your last thoughts?"

  
  


"What goes up, must come down." 

  
  


They both laughed hysterically, the card and the feather. Terra is taken aback.

  
  


"I am glad you can now laugh at this…"

  
  


"No, really, hon… I thought, what about Setzer? I thought… Now he will never get put in his proper place. I thought… Already? So soon. And I thought… So this is how I am going to die."

  
  


"Yes, all good thoughts, my dear Daryl."

  
  


"I thought so. It is incredibly rare to be granted such a realization. Such clarity"

  
  


"Yes. I see your point. Did you accept it? Before you hit?"

  
  


"Yes, I think so, or just about. I did so accept, but a little begrudgingly at first. It's easier once it is over."

  
  


"Yes, I guess it is."

  
  


"Looking back is the easy part. It's the anticipation that will get you every time."

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


Terra thought on that for a moment. Had she anticipated her own death? It had taken so long that she felt it would never come. She observed the key again, sullenly spinning in the corner. Her eyes fixed on him until he noticed her stare.

  
  


Locke spoke: "You would be terribly bored if I told you. Or just disgusted, I suppose."

  
  


"You know that isn't true."

  
  


"Yes, of course, but no need for you to always be so damn right."

  
  


"I…"

  
  


"Don't say it. I know, I sound horribly. It was… All of it, was just…"

  
  


"Surely not all."

  
  


"No, of course not. But, in my last moments, I got this wave of clarity, like I could see myself for the first time and it… It was frightening in certain ways, quite a startling thing."

  
  


"Yes, I can imagine it would have been."

  
  


Locke is quiet.

  
  


"Oh… I did it again. I am sorry."

  
  


"No. I was just thinking."

  
  


"Oh."

  
  


"Why do we live? Why then?"

  
  


The paintbrush spins and flicks paint in their direction. The flecks are bright yellow.

  
  


"We live, I suppose, to discover things. To find out certain truths."

  
  


"And what, then, if we dislike these "truths?""

  
  


"We simply live."

  
  


"Yes, I suppose."

  
  


"What happened to you, Locke? You used to be so vibrant. I looked up to you."

  
  


"Did you then?"

  
  


"Yes, of course. You seemed to know where you were going."

  
  


"Only because I never seemed to have much choice in that matter, Relm."

  
  


"Did you not?"

  
  


Locke is silent.

  
  


The paintbrush flicks a tiny droplet of green paint.

  
  


"We cannot blame everything on Fate, Locke. Perhaps there is even no such thing as it."

  
  


"I hate the past."

  
  


"It's all the same. The future. The past. The future is only different because the choices are new. Maybe more or less your own, but they are there, waiting for us."

  
  


"But it seemed, sometimes, like a trap. Like a wheel that I would run around in. Just endless…"

  
  


"You can't blame anything for it. We can't blame our past. I know this, Locke, and think a while about my past."

  
  


"Yes, you are right, Relm."

  
  


"We cannot blame our fathers for everything."

  
  


"And if we become them?"

  
  


"You didn't. You couldn't have. If anything, the force with which we try to deny them, makes us more like them. But there is no harm in this."

  
  


"No?"

  
  


"You did good. If that means anything coming from me."

  
  


"It does, Relm. What little of you I really knew."

  
  


"You would have liked me as an old woman, perhaps. But by then you were no longer around."

  
  


"No. I wasn't. Was Thamasa good in those days?"

  
  


"I hear it got better."

  
  


They are silent. Terra smiles a little, and continues to wonder about those last moments. For some, the reflection seemed to have been quite painful. Others, a mere jaunt in the waves of time. 

  
  


The green vial spoke.

  
  


"Dear Terra, for me it was a moment of great happiness, knowing that I would return to my family."

  
  


"Yes, I see."

  
  


"Even after coming to rejoice in life, the death was a welcoming thing."

  
  


"Yes, it is welcoming, I suppose. After…"

  
  


"After fulfillment."

  
  


"Yes. You are very correct, Cyan."

  
  


"Yes, age brings wisdom."

  
  


"And death too, I am beginning to believe." 

  
  


Terra Ponders:

  
  


"But, beyond the memories and the confrontation with yourself…One more question remains in my mind."

  
  


What is that, dear?

  
  


"My death was so calm, but others were not, it seems."

  
  


Your question is?

  
  


"Well… Did it hurt?"

  
  
  
  


Question Three: Did it hurt?

  
  
  
  
  
  


"Of course it did."

  
  


"There isn't anything quite like hearing your own neck break…"

  
  


"No, it was calm."

  
  


"I smiled. It was my time."

  
  


"It broke my heart to see his face. Much worse than the wounds… Much, much worse…"

  
  


"Yes, it hurt greatly."

  
  


"No it was painless. Useless."

  
  


"Dead smells like iron, you know, like the taste of blood."

  
  


"It hurt. You witnessed it, don't you remember?" The harlequin mask glared at Terra.

  
  


"You were of the group that killed me, all of you! And it was a colossal death. I ripped heaven and hell in half that day, and so here we all are floating in a soup of all our regrets."

  
  


"I have no regrets." The icicle was sharp and clear.

  
  


"You don't, Celes?" The key responded.

  
  


"I would have loved to have remained with you, maybe only that."

  
  


"You are lovely. I am ashamed that I let you die so young."

  
  


"No, love, do not say it. You gave me everything… My own life."

  
  


"Celes… I'm sorry that I have been unkind."

  
  


"Don't be."

  
  


"I love you with all my heart, I do. You know this, don't you?"

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


"Are you done, already? You make me quite sick!"

  
  


"Shut it, Kefka. Give them a moment." The feather spun, in angry colours.

  
  


"Lovers need their moments."

  
  


Everybody was silent, and knew this to be true.

  
  


But they said no more, only thought out their feelings, and dared not speak them. The necklace, of tiny perfect jewels regarded them with interest, but turned and sighed. She had lost a great deal through her death, and she knows this. The key notices her.

  
  


"Rachel."

  
  


She said nothing.

  
  


"Oh, I am sorry… All of this. But, you . . . You know how I feel about you."

  
  


"Felt, Locke. And for her, you feel more."

  
  


"Maybe not more, maybe just different."

  
  


"No, don't lie that way. It is more. It was a twice-gained love and it meant quite a lot."

  
  


Locke is silent.

  
  


"I do understand. I loved you too. It was very good, very nice. But this, this is quite important…"

  
  


"Yes, you are right. I am sorry. Even in death I won't return to you, Rachel."

  
  


"We have memories."

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


"That's all anyone could ask for."

  
  


The necklace wove herself through the hole at the crown of the key, and left him to shudder for a moment. He sighed, and she was gone. The icicle dripped a sweet song for him, and he smiled again.

  
  


"Thank you, love."

  
  


"No, thank you."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Voice Spoke.

  
  


Terra.

  
  


"Yes?"

  
  


Do you realize that you are the first here to ask these questions?

  
  


"No, I didn't realize…"

  
  


Well. You are. You are different. You have questioned.

  
  


"I see."

  
  


Would you care to examine death a little more closely?

  
  


"Okay…"

  
  
  
  


The way we die says a lot about our character.

  
  


As does the way we live.

  
  


The last moment gives us one last shot at our own life.

  
  


A second to comment. A minute to reflect.

  
  
  
  


And now, if you must, perhaps a chance to go back.

  
  
  
  


Terra Speaks:

  
  


"To the beginning?"

  
  


Perhaps not the same one, but yes, a beginning all the same.

  
  


Terra is silent. She understands the greatness of the offer being presented.

  
  
  
  


Let us examine them, just a few, case by case.

  
  


Then you, Terra Branford, since you have learned how to question, can help us decide.

  
  
  
  


"Okay then. Who first?"

  
  


The key spun again. Terra saw that the silver chain, which hung form it, was indeed quite tarnished.

  
  


  
  


The Case of Locke Cole

  
  
  
  


Locke Cole, self-claimed treasure hunter and train-worn traveler, died at the age of sixty-seven under the care of one Danae Figaro. This girl had been under his care from the age of only seven, and had returned there to see him to his death. 

  
  


So his claims to having died alone, are only partly correct. He did have this. While not a blood relative, Danae was very much like a daughter to him. Did he regret that he had no children of his own? Was this a selfish wish? Celes had died, but this was not the reason that they had borne no children.

  
  


So that is his death. Let's now examine, briefly, his life.

  
  


Locke's life, though lived partly in the shadow of his Father, was primarily based around many women. His Grandmother; His Mother; the woman, Rachel; the woman, Terra; the woman, Celes; the child, Danae. Others, briefly, but mainly these. He based his worth on these relationships, and his ability to preserve them. He lost one to time, two to gravity, one to violent ends, one to distance, and one not at all, though he questioned her feelings toward him at certain times, right to the end.

  
  


Locke hated his father, this goes without saying. 

  
  


He did not become his father, as he had feared, however. His father was not concerned with women in such a way as Locke, showing very little respect for them. This makes them different. Locke was kinder, more easily harmed. Locke held more grudges. Locke strived always to be strong for others. Locke laughed more. Locke had more sense of purpose. All these things make them different.

  
  


Let's listen to the phrases that Locke remembered upon his death:

  
  


"He's not my son. I don't want some scrawny little faggot for a son."

  
  


"I do not remember you, whoever you are."

  
  


"We can be each others home."

  
  


"You're a lowlife. A thief. Stay away from my daughter."

  
  


"Thank you."

  
  


"Thanks."

  
  


"I'd like to thank you, but I'm not sure how."

  
  


"I did, and always will, love you."

  
  


"Just go, boy. Now, in the night, cos there won't ever be a better chance."

  
  


"You always kept your promises to me."

  
  


"The path is dusty and long. It will bring you home."

  
  


There are more, of course. Locke Cole had an excellent memory. Maybe a little too sharp, because he would often dwell on it.

  
  
  
  


There is a silence.

  
  


So what is the verdict?

  
  


"He gave so much of himself to others… Did he keep nothing of it for himself?"

  
  


Some people are that way. What have you decided?

  
  


"Can we look at another first? Before we decide?"

  
  


Of course.

  
  


The vase turns, and a petal falls gracefully form one of the camellias.

  
  


  
  


The Case of Sabin Rene Figaro

  
  
  
  


Sabin Rene Figaro, died a harsh death. He knew for some time that it would be so. He died alone, away from family, but he had, by this time, grown accustomed to living in this manner. He had left the kingdom of Figaro, and once gone, had not turned back on his decision. He was quite unaware of the effect this had on his twin brother, Edgar.

  
  


One may consider this selfish and cruel, but in reality it was only Sabin's way of dealing with affection.

  
  


Sabin was a man who scorned his birthright, and all that came with it. He longed for freedom. And true freedom, he knew, would not come while he remained in contact with his family. This is also why he left without a trace, and also why he died alone. 

  
  


His death came to him one morning, and he fell through the ice to meet it. Yes, it was partly drowning which took his life, and also partly the coldness of the water. It was early in the spring of the Ice age, and the ocean had begun to thaw, a fact that Sabin was quite unaware of. Drowning is an unusual way to die, but quite a common one during this time. Sabin accepted his death.

  
  


He thought of his brother, and wished him well. 

  
  
  
  


Will you decide? Or see another…

  
  


"Another, please."

  
  


The paintbrush drips.

  
  
  
  


The Case of Relm Arrowny

  
  
  
  


Relm Arrowny, an artist and founder of the renewed town of Thamasa, died in old age. In her aching last days she had requested a serum to ease herself into death. It was her own choice. Relm's character, as a general rule, did not take things as they came. She made things happen.

  
  


But while this could be considered suicide, on one account, or even mercy killing, it was a death which came at the appropriate time. Relm knew this, and did what was necessary. She did not want to hang on and be a burden to those whose care she was under. Relm had learned at an early age that people become easily frustrated with the care of others.

  
  


She learned this from her father.

  
  


From her mother she learned of loss, of weakness. Her death was something Relm tried for years to understand. The death of Vesta Arrowny played a crucial role in developing Relm's character. She learned that sorrow, and the act of lingering on it, draws one into a pitiful sleep, and eventually death. Relm swore she would not despair, no matter what the cost. She searched the world over for ways to go on, even in her darkest hour. For this, her efforts were well rewarded.

  
  


In her last days, Relm remembered her grandfather, Strago Magus', death. She looked with respect to his smiling face in death. His complete acceptance. And she followed his example.

  
  


Relm, never once in her life, regretted anything. She bore hatreds and doubts, but never regrets. For her strength, she was reunited with her estranged father, and their efforts saw the town of Thamasa reborn. It was all she could have asked for.

  
  


Her epitaph read:

  
  


"What she painted once with colour,

she painted twice with her will."

  
  
  
  


Well? What do you think?

  
  


"No, not her. She…"

  
  


Yes?

  
  


"She lived a very respectable life. How could she ask for more?"

  
  


Another then?

  
  


"Yes."

  
  
  
  


The Case of Daryl Allegro

  
  
  
  


Daryl Allegro, woman of the world, hit the ground very hard. This was her death: An airship, The Falcon. Th fastest in the whole world, and the fastest descent. She felt severe pain, but only for an instant. She died in a way that was fitting of a woman of her character. Daryl was a loose canon. She lived by the common philosophy: Live hard, die young.

  
  


She also bore very few regrets.

  
  


Daryl lived in a man's world. Her choice of career and recreations were not the orthodox in womanly culture, to be sure. She had always known that she would not grow old in an apron, whirling around the kitchen, balancing children on her knees. No, she chose the path less trodden, and was much happier for it.

  
  


Along this path, she met her soul-mate. One Setzer Gabbianni. She traveled with him to the end of her life, loving every minute of it. 

  
  


The end of that adventure was, of course, her only regret on death.

  
  


The only marker ever placed to mark her grave was the one upon Setzer's heart.

And so, what do you think of her?

  
  


"No. Let her be. She died content enough. So she has said."

  
  


As you wish…

  
  


The harlequin's mask lights up with a devilish grin.

  
  


  
  


The Case of Kefka Palazzo

  
  
  
  


Kefka Palazzo, who ruined the world, died under the hands of many whom opposed him. He did not, even then, regret his life, or blame fate in any way.

  
  


I has been said that Kefka went mad, under the effects of the Imperial training, but this is only partly true. There were adverse effects, yes, and he was never quite the same afterward, but he was not completely what you would call mad. Kefka was often hit with moments of startling clarity.

  
  


He wanted to rule the world.

  
  


Was this wrong? It is hard to say. It certainly seemed, to the casual viewer, that his intentions were immoral. From Kefka's point of view they were most certainly the right choice for the path of world history. He had great vision. He had the power to nearly achieve it. He wanted to rule the world.

  
  


This thought rarely occurs to common people. In this way he was very distinct. 

  
  
  
  


"Wait.."

  
  


Yes?

  
  


"I couldn't."

  
  


No, I suppose not.

  
  


Silence.

  
  


But you must see how things are different from every perspective.

  
  


"Well, yes. From his point of view, he was in the right."

  
  


Perhaps he even had the best of intentions.

  
  


"I couldn't ever believe that."

  
  


As you wish.

  
  


"I couldn't let him live again."

  
  


Perhaps it would work out right for him this time.

  
  


"That's what I fear the most..."

  
  


I see. Understood.

  
  


Silence.

  
  


Well then, shall we examine another whose power helped alter the world?

  
  


"I suppose."

  
  


I suspect that you will lend her more sympathy...

  
  


The icicle drips a low note and so the requiem begins.

  
  
  
  


The Case of Celes Chere

  
  
  
  


Celes Chere, former Imperial General and child of ice, died in the arms of her lover, Locke Cole. That is how she qualified her life. From the point at which she met Locke, her entire existence was in her relation to him. Despite her independent nature, Celes learned to trust only in him.

  
  


Some would say that she sold her soul for power. Traded her heart for one of ice, but Celes was always unsure of this. Yes, the power was necessary, she had been raised to believe, and she had taken this to be her only truth. Savage as it was, she agreed to the procedure. Perhaps, though, she didn't really have a choice.

  
  


Either way, she was a prominent figure in the Ruining. Her violent actions, most notably the burning of the town of Maranda

, were among the most scarring of that war. She pulled out, turned sides, and swore to be a person who understood what was right. A person who understood herself.

  
  


Through her lover and soul-mate she eventually reached her goal. It was hard, and she did pay penance for her sins, as some would say, but in the end she was absolved.

  
  


She was not afraid of death, though it took her violently. She had known feelings much worse. Been familiar with violence.

  
  


And Locke was there by her side. She only suffered to see him suffer so. 

  
  
  
  


"Oh..."

  
  


Yes?

  
  


"I can't bear this tale another telling."

  
  


Do you feel her life was satisfactory?

  
  


"I believe she overcame her own nemesis. That alone is very respectable."

  
  


You knew her well, did you not?

  
  


"Yes, and she was always kind to me."

  
  


Would you wish her another chance?

  
  


"I... I don't know."

  
  


Another then?

  
  


"Okay..."

  
  
  
  


The Case of Terra Branford

  
  
  
  


Terra died. She was 256 years old.

  
  
  
  


"Oh! I do not wish to return. It won't be necessary."

  
  


Shall we review your life?

  
  


"I'm not sure…"

  
  


It scares you?

  
  


"Yes. Sort of."

  
  


Then observe only this…

  
  
  
  


Her funeral was held three days after her death, in the chapel of Mobliz. 

  
  


In attendance were representatives from all the major parishes of the church of the Holy Esper, the queen of Figaro, the heads of several towns, and various civilians. Of the latter group there included descendants of the Thamasian Magi and those descended from her comrades.

  
  


Terra was officially declared a saint two weeks later, at the monthly meeting of the parish officials of Mobliz. A statue was then commissioned from the artist, Fara Arrowny, for the main chapel in her honour, to be placed between the statues of her comrades, St. Sebastian and St. Theresa, and directly under the painting of Maduin, her Esper father. It was carved from jade, and glistened in the sun during morning services.

  
  


On a hill overlooking the town of Mobliz, an acorn was planted. This was carried out in a quiet ceremony by several young women in the community under the guidance of Rosaline Madeen.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The Choice

  
  
  
  
  
  


So then, who will it be? If anyone…

  
  


"Must I choose?"

  
  


You could choose to say nothing…

  
  


"But that won't do."

  
  


No, it won't do. You are correct.

  
  
  
  


Terra considers.

  
  


This continues for an indeterminate amount of time.

  
  


She Speaks:

  
  


"I have made a decision."

  
  


Yes? Who will it be?

  
  


"Locke Cole."

  
  


Are you sure?

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


Locke speaks.

  
  


"Terra, I am grateful, but. . . I couldn't keep running. Or keep searching…"

  
  


"Really? Is that what you truly wish?"

  
  


"No…"

  
  


"Then, we will send you out again."

  
  


"Yes. You're right, then. That is the right choice. But Celes, what of her…"

  
  


"I will be here, Locke. When you return."

  
  


"Come with me." 

  
  


The icicle drips softly.

  
  


"May I?"

  
  


Of course. If Terra thinks it would be best.

  
  


"Terra?"

  
  


"Yes. Of course."

  
  
  
  


Terra Reflects

  
  
  
  


I am Terra Branford, a woman of no large consequence to myself, but bearing much importance in the eyes of others. 

  
  


I have lived for 256 years. I have seen the destruction of two worlds. Witnessed an ice age come and go. The renewal of an entire world. Buildings rise and fall, oceans churn and calmly lap the shore. I have heard chapel bells ring at early mornings. I have seen many lives, and many tears, many smiling faces. I have died, and now I feel I am finally completed. 

  
  


A life is truly worth itself. No more, no less.

  
  


I have lived.

.

I am happy.

  
  
  
  


The Acorn Tree

  
  
  
  


Rena Atma, granddaughter of Rosaline Madeen, stood under the tall acorn tree. She had loved this tree as a child. Her mother, Kylie, had told her that St. Terra Branford was buried under this tree, though it bears no marker. The woman had heard many tales of St. Terra, the Esper avatar, her name being an important one in the lore of Mobliz.

  
  


Rosaline, her grandmother, had been in charge of the burial. They planted the acorn that day. Now it towered above the woman's head. It had grown so tall. The branches traced the motions of time.

  
  


She pressed her cheek against the tree. Perhaps the saint woman, Terra's, spirit now rested in this tree. Perhaps a part of her body had decayed and grown through the thick wood. Or perhaps…

  
  


Perhaps other things happen when you die.

  
  


Rena smiled. Whatever may happened upon death, she didn't not find any of the options to be discomforting. Death is an ending, and they are things unto themselves. As life is a thing unto itself. She felt happy to be alive.

  
  


The town of Mobliz shone brightly that day. The waves of sunlight passed gracefully between its towers and cliffs. The breeze tickled the water. The bells of the chapel tower rang quietly. Rena left the shadow of Terra's acorn tree and strolled toward the center of the town. Back to her family, to supper, and the evening service. 

  
  


The tree remained. It's uppermost branches calmly swaying with the ocean breeze.

  
  


  
  


Coda

  
  
  
  


He stood atop a cliff, overlooking the sea. His chocobo stood behind him a few feet, enjoying a meal of grass. He sighed, and took in the sunset with a quiet smile. One more day. He would be in his lover's arms by tomorrow, nightfall. 

  
  


The man, Daren Sheeva, took a drink from his flask and chuckled. He felt very much at peace with his life at that moment. It was all falling into place. He had not lived without sorrow, in fact, in seemed often to follow his every move, but in this one event he now felt completely content. The woman. She was fair, and truly a blessing. Her soft voice calmed him. Made him whole.

  
  


He felt as though they were definitely meant for each other. As if they had been met before in some past life.

  
  


He laughed deeply at himself. Such nonsense, some would say. But Daren was a believer through and through. It was a great flaw of his character, some would say, but he felt that it was the only way to keep sane in this world. Hope was what made it all okay. Of course, he had been born into an easy time. Perhaps many years ago, during the war, or when the snow fell, it would have been different. But even then, what would anyone be without hope? That is what kept the world alive. Nothing else would have led him through his darkest hours. That is why he stood here now, on Figaro's shore.

  
  


Tomorrow he would sail to Thamasa. There, he would stay. His love was waiting for him, counting the minutes. He felt the ring in his pocket, between his fingers, and smiled.

  
  
  
  


~*~

  
  
  
  


Author's Note: This story was mostly written in Bermuda, on several humid Summer mornings, and completed on a few cold Newfoundland Winter nights. Inspirations for this fiction include:

  
  


-The play, West Moon, by Newfoundland playwright Al Pittman (Go read it. It's lovely. The ghosts of a resettled community wake once every year and talk about their situation. You have little choice but to be moved by it.)

- The last episodes of Gainax's Neon Genesis Evangelion (Which I recommend even if you detest anime),

- Neil Gaiman's The Sandman series (For his excellent examinations of life and the afterlife. Also recommended greatly to everyone, regardless of your feelings on comic books. It's beyond merely that. His prose style is amazing.)

- Similar stories I have read on this theme which don't come directly to mind.

-FFVI - And its brilliant characters, of course. 

-Recent events in my life, plus the evening news. 

  
  


I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. The ice age that I have mention in this tale, and the religious aspects, are dealt with more closely in another story of mine, called Absolute Zero, if you are curious. 

  
  


A great life to you all! All comments are much desired and greatly appreciated.


End file.
